


A Bed So Big And Wide

by kittensmctavish



Category: Hamilton - Miranda (Broadway Cast) RPF, In the Heights - Miranda (Broadway Cast) RPF
Genre: Afterlife, Amanda Fucking Palmer, Angst, Angst and Feels, Asexual Character, Asexuality, Character Death, Death, F/M, Heavy Angst, Lack of Communication, Sex-Repulsed Asexuality, Song Lyrics, Songfic, The Bed Song
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-10
Updated: 2017-09-10
Packaged: 2018-12-26 07:47:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12054489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kittensmctavish/pseuds/kittensmctavish
Summary: The spell goes on for months…for years…but Lin is patient. Lin loves you. Lin will wait.(Songfic to Amanda Palmer's "The Bed Song".)





	A Bed So Big And Wide

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this a long time ago for a now-defunct fandom. But I still like it. So I updated it.
> 
> You can listen to/watch the music video for "The Bed Song" here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7sW4dwXXX7Q
> 
> Also, first fic for a new fandom and I'm nervous as hell posting this.
> 
> I'm so sorry.

_exhibit a: we are friends in a sleeping bag_

_splitting the heat, we have one filthy pillow to share_

_and your lips are in my hair_

 

You’re both thirteen years old.

You don’t seem quite as worried about being so close to someone, and Lin is just now starting to grasp the intimacy and romance of being so close to someone.

You’re tucked into your sleeping bag, you having flown from a party that was getting to be too much for your anxiety-ridden self. Lin had followed after you, to make sure you were okay. He had only crawled into the sleeping bag after he took your silence to be a “yes”.

And now the two of you whispered into the night.

“Why did Jonathan have to bring that thing?” you whimper.

“Well, he says it’s his new pet,” Lin says, trying to reason.

“It’s a rat! How does he know it doesn’t have rabies or something?”

“You have to admit, though: it was a little sweet when he started singing to it.”

“Lin…you do remember what film the song ‘Ben’ comes from, don’t you?”

A moment of silence passes, followed by laughter from Lin. It quickly infects you, and Lin can feel the whole of your body shaking, hot breath tickling his scalp.

As your shared laughter dies down, the faint strumming of a ukulele echoes into their room.

“What is that?” you ask, tilting your head up, lips brushing against Lin’s forehead accidentally.

“Sounds like ‘Hot for Teacher’,” Lin says, listening more closely, daring to brush his lips against your forehead very much on purpose (though they press more into your hair than against your skin, so he’s not sure if you notice).

 

_someone upstairs has a rat that we laughed at_

_and people are drinking and singing van halen and slayer_

_on a ukulele tear_

 

You recline again, Lin settling his head against your shoulder. If you stiffen slightly at the contact, Lin doesn’t notice. Or at least, pretends not to.

 

_exhibit b: well we found an apartment_

_it’s not much to look at, a futon on a floor_

_torn off desktop for a door_

 

You’re both twenty-three years old.

In the months the two of you have lived there, you haven’t been able to upgrade your furniture and furnishings; it’s a matter of needing to pay rent and needing to eat enough to survive. Any extra income either of you have, you put into a savings account. Lin doesn’t argue. Well, doesn’t ALWAYS argue.

“I’m surprised we haven’t bought an actual bed yet,” Lin mentions one night, tossing his clothes into the crate that acts as a laundry hamper. “Aren’t you always complaining about what the mat’s going to do to your back? Or about things on the floor? Or bugs?”

“I clean the floor and spray the cracks of the doors every day with bug spray,” you say, settling on to the futon. “You know I do.”

“Yeah…” Lin says as he lies on the firm futon mat, glancing around the somewhat bare apartment. “It’s just not very…home-y, is all.”

“Once we have enough money, we can furnish to your heart’s content,” you say, rolling on to your side. “You’ll have a whole wall you can dedicate solely to posters from plays and musicals. In addition to the wall you already reserve for unfinished song lyrics.”

“You always say that,” Lin mutters, trying to make it sound affectionate. He tries to snake an arm around your waist and kiss your neck, but you pull away with a groan.

“Could you not?” you say. “You know what happened last time; the neighbors complained.”

“That was months ago, they’ve probably forgotten by now,” Lin says, trying to kiss you again, but you squirm away.

“Still…could you not?” Lin draws his arm away from you.

 

_all the decor’s made of milk crates and duct tape_

_and if we have sex, they can hear us through the floor_

_but we don’t do that anymore_

 

It’s well into the night, and Lin stares at the ceiling before turning to look at you for the umpteenth time that night. You’re having a nightmare, if the shivering and slight whimpers are any indicator. But every time Lin tries to touch your shoulder to wake you up, to ask if you’re okay…

You flinch and curl closer to the edge of the futon. Take a bit more of the blue blanket with you. So Lin gathers the bed sheets around his body as best he can, lies on his side, facing you, wondering when you will snap out of this months-long spell of no kissing, no hugging, no touching…

 

_and i lay there wondering what is the matter_

_is this a matter of worse or of better_

_you took the blanket, so i took the bed sheet_

_but i would have held you if you’d only_

_let me_

 

The spell goes on for months…for years…but Lin is patient. Lin loves you. Lin will wait.

 

_exhibit c: look how quaint and how quiet and private_

_our paychecks have bought us a condo in town_

_it’s the nicest flat around_

 

You’re both thirty years old.

After so many years in that apartment – so many years of stiff backs and milk crate laundry hampers – at last, a real home.

Lin hangs the last of the (framed! autographed!) musical posters in the living room, listening to the movers clattering around upstairs (and your worried exclamations at said clattering). The bed is being set up. Lin smiles.

He let you have control on what kind of bed to order – mattress, bedframe, sheets, comforter, everything. He only requested a color scheme to go well with the wallpaper in your new bedroom. But Lin wanted the bed – finally, a real bed – to be a surprise.

The movers clomp their way downstairs, and you call, “Lin! It’s ready!”

Lin takes a deep breath, trying to get his excitement under control. He walks up the stairs, gripping the handrail carefully, trying not to run up them. He reaches the bedroom door, inhales once again, and pushes the door open, pausing in the doorframe.

 

_you picked a mattress and had it delivered_

_and i walked upstairs and the sight of it made my heart pound_

_and i wrapped my arms around me_

 

The frame is simple but ornate, lacquered dark wood headboard. It looks well with the cream-colored duvet with hints of evergreen and navy. Large pillows rest against the headboard. It’s a smart bed. It looks comfortable and lovely…

…and big.

King-size, if not bigger.

“You like it?” Lin turns to see you, an anxious expression on your face. Lin says nothing as you barely brush past him to adjust the duvet cover, smooth out wrinkles and dimples that aren’t there. Lin swallows past the lump in his throat and forces a smile.

“It’s beautiful. I love it.”

 

_and i stood there wondering what is the matter_

_is this a matter of worse or of better?_

_you walked right past me and straightened the covers_

_but i would still love you if you wanted a lover_

 

There’s no “christening of the sheets”. Simply crawling into a bed rather than on to the floor, tossing his shirt in a real laundry hamper instead of an empty box.

Lin fidgets in the bed, adjusting to the soft mattress (as opposed to the firm futon). And he tosses and turns, and amidst all of it, his foot accidentally brushes your leg. Lin freezes when he hears you barely huff in frustration and pull further away.

 

_and you said all the money in the world won’t buy_

_a bed so big and wide_

_to guarantee that you_

_won’t accidentally touch me in the night_

 

A lot has changed. But nothing has changed.

 

_exhibit d: now we’re both mostly paralyzed_

_don’t know how long we’ve been lying here in fear_

_too afraid to even feel_

 

You’re both eighty years old.

For the first night in many nights, Lin does not have to tell you, “Stop worrying about my cancer; you know it’s the kind they can’t cure”. Lin does not have to talk you out of worrying over which one of you will die first. You are very quiet.

“You okay?” Lin asks, opening his book and grabbing a pen to jot down some new ideas.

“I’m not worried,” you say. “Why am I not worried?”

“…you’re worried that you’re not worried, will that suffice?” Lin says after reaching for his reading glasses.

“That will do,” you say as you turn the lamp on your bedside table off. “Thank you, Lin.” You roll on to your side with a slight wheeze. Lin jots down musings that fill a couple of pages before he hears you begin to snore slightly.

 

_i find my glasses and you turn the light out_

_roll off on your side, like you’ve rolled away for years_

_holding back those king-size tears_

Lin doesn’t glance at the inches of space between the two of you anymore. He’s been too tired and too sick to wonder anymore why you just stopped touching him. Nor does he wonder anymore if you ever loved him. You’re both too old and too worn out for such a discussion.

He still loves you. You seem to still tolerate him. At this point, that is all Lin needs.

 

_and i still don’t ask you what is the matter_

_is this a matter of worse or of better_

_you take the heart failure, i’ll take the cancer_

_i’ve long stopped wondering why you don’t answer_

 

After a while, Lin’s eyes grow too weary to keep writing. He sets his book and pen down, takes off his glasses, and turns his own light off, turning away from you.

He doesn’t notice that your snoring has ceased. It would be impossible for him to see your hand hanging limply off the edge of the bed. He won’t notice until the morning how cold your skin is.

 

_exhibit e: you can certainly see how fulfilling a life_

_from the cost and size of stone_

_of our final resting home_

 

You’re both thirty years old again, somehow.

Lin is a romantic. He knew if you died first, he himself wouldn’t be long for the world. So he isn’t surprised when, after three days of lying in a bed with no you, everything fades out…and when everything fades in again, it’s white and bright and soft and you are next to him once more.

“That didn’t take long,” you say.

“Were you worried that it would?”

“Not at all.” you say, a small smile on your face. Lin is too confused to return it.

“Where are we?”

 

_we got some nice ones right under a cherry tree_

_you and me lying the only way we know_

_side by side and still and cold_

 

It’s as though he is looking up and looking down at the same time. He is lying next to you, and it is as though the two of you are underneath and above your gravestones. Cherry blossoms fall above and below the both of you, blanketing you and your graves.

“It’s a beautiful site,” Lin says. “You chose well.”

“Thanks,” you say, gazing over the graveyard with Lin. Lin nods, before turning on his side to look at you again, more intently, swimming in the white-pink petals of the cherry blossoms. You look young and calm and as lovely as Lin always thought you were.

“Why did you stop loving me?” Lin isn’t aware he actually whispered that until you frown and turn your head, brushing blossoms away so you have a better look at him.

“What did you say?” It’s less like you’re asking that question specifically, and more like you’re asking “how could you say that?”

“It’s just…you pulled away…and you kept pulling further and further away, and the bed seemed bigger and bigger…” Lin can’t ebb the stream of words flowing from his lips. “…and I always wondered if there was something I did to make you stop loving me.”

 

_and i finally ask you what was the matter_

_was it a matter of worse or of better_

_you stretch your arms out and finally face me…_

 

You shift your body to turn and face Lin.

“You didn’t do anything,” you say, voice trembling. “I never stopped.”

“You loved me?”

“Always.”

“Then why did you pull away? You never let me hold you or kiss you or even touch you.”

“I just…I never liked to be touched,” you say. “I loved you…I love you…but the intimacy, the touching, I just…I never liked it.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” The tears in your eyes are blurred by the tears welling in Lin’s own eyes.

“I thought you knew.”

 

_…you say i would have told you_

_if you’d only asked me_

_if you’d only asked me_

 

_if you’d only asked me_

 

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback welcome and appreciated.


End file.
